Strange Bedfellows
by AnnabethLuna
Summary: "Mortal enemies, actually," supplied Spike with a smirk. "But, you know, circumstances warranted a truce." Joyce has just learned that her daughter is a Slayer, Buffy extends an invitation, and Spike's not helping. Missing moment during Becoming, Part II.


**This scene in** ** _Becoming, Part II_** **might possibly be my favorite scene in the entire show - or, at the very least, it's way up there. I love stuff like this; I love Buffy and Spike talking about something Joyce doesn't understand; I love Buffy "coming out" to her mother with Spike being extremely unhelpful, and I love the fact that they formed a truce in the first place. So how could I not write about it? This is just the middle of the scene - the part we don't see, because what's already on-screen is gold as it is.**

 **...**

"Mom," said Buffy, the seriousness in her eyes at odds with the words coming out of her mouth, "I'm a vampire slayer."

Joyce would feel guilty about it later, but her first reaction, even before disbelief, was, _Not this again_!

She remembered all the talk about vampires from a few years ago – so bad they'd even had Buffy looked at. She'd been too old for childish fantasies then, and she was older now – so something must have gone wrong. It did follow the same pattern she'd gone through in LA – troublemaking, skipping class, and finally, vampire fantasies.

Or she was just trying to be infuriating.

But there was that small matter of the man with the wrong face, who had jumped out and growled, and exploded into dust when Buffy had stabbed him in the chest with a wooden stick. That made things less exasperating and more . . . completely bewildering.

"You're a what?" was the first thing she could articulate.

"A vampire slayer." Buffy darted a look around them. For what, Joyce wasn't sure. For vampires? She almost let out a hysterical laugh, but managed to muzzle herself at the last minute. "Mom," Buffy said urgently, "can we just – get inside, and talk about it in there?"

With an impatient jerk of the head, she turned around and walked up the porch steps to the front door. Joyce followed her, a little numbly.

"And exactly what does that mean?" she asked as they entered the house, Buffy relaxing visibly as soon as they were across the threshold.

"Pretty obvious, innit?" The other man was speaking up now – Spike, wasn't it? Although – there was no way that was his real name. "She slays vampires. Job description's in the bloody title." He was still standing in the doorway – why hadn't he come inside yet? "Hey," he continued. "Slayer."

Joyce waited for him to elaborate; he didn't. It wasn't until Buffy whirled around and snapped, "What?" that Joyce realized that he hadn't been explaining anything further, but had been addressing Buffy. By title.

Somehow it was that little detail that made the whole thing seem so much more real.

Spike didn't answer Buffy; just waved his hand around in the doorway. Joyce didn't know what he was trying to do, but –

"Oh, come on!" Buffy groaned. "I've said 'let's get inside' at least, like, _five_ times tonight! How is that not enough to" –

"Dunno," bit out Spike, "but are you gonna spend all night bitching about the rules, or are you going to" –

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Come in, Spike."

He stretched his hand further into the house, waggled his fingers, and then strolled through the doorway with a pleased smirk. In the entryway he paused and looked around. "Nice house," he commented.

That remark brought Joyce back to herself – feeling more secure now that she was inside her own home, she tried to take control of the situation. "All right, Buffy, no more lies. Explain everything."

Spike cleared his throat pointedly, and Joyce could hear Buffy gritting her teeth. "Mom," she said, "I'll tell you everything, I promise. But I need to talk to Spike right now."

"That's another thing!" Joyce had no intention of giving up the power in this conversation. Buffy had been lying to her for who knows how long, spending time with these – strange – older men. Angel, too – and had they mentioned his name, earlier? "Who is this person? Who are these people you're spending time with?" She stared up at Spike. "How do you two know each other? Are you – friends, or" –

"Mortal enemies, actually," supplied Spike with a smirk. "But, you know, circumstances warranted a truce. Strange bedfellows and whatnot."

Buffy flushed and glared. "Spike!" she hissed. "Could you just – stop – helping?"

"What?" he protested. "'S true! And speaking of, do we get to talk this out or what? We haven't got a lot of time, you know!"

She glared harder. "Fine," she said. She looked at Joyce, and Joyce was struck – unwillingly – by the weariness in her eyes. "We'll talk later, Mom. Right now, I've got a world to save." She turned to Spike. "Go ahead."

He opened his mouth to speak – and the phone rang.

The three of them all looked at one another, no one moving for a moment. On the second ring, Buffy snapped out of it. "That could be the others," she said. "Willow might have woken up." She ran into the kitchen, and they heard the clunk as she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Spike and Joyce stood awkwardly in the living room, listening to Buffy's end of the conversation. "Xander. Is she – she is? Oh, thank goodness. Can I talk to her?"

Her voice changed. "Willow," she said in relief. "You're awake. I'm so sorry this happened" –

"Willow," mused Spike. Joyce looked over at him to see his face scrunched in memory. "That's the redhead, right?"

"Yes." So he had met Willow before. And Buffy knew about Willow's injury, which must mean that Willow knew about this whole vampire slayer business as well! So all these people could know, but not Buffy's own mother? And if this slayer thing was getting people hurt, and Buffy into trouble – well, it had to stop.

"Hmm." Spike's speculative noise brought Joyce back into the present. "She's a cute one." His smile turned a little dangerous, and Joyce wanted to shrink back. "Course," Spike continued, "the longest encounter I ever had with her, she was a ghost, so" –

"A ghost?" Joyce's head was spinning. "But Willow's not dead."

"No," Spike agreed. "And Buffy's not really a 17th-century maiden." He let out a wistful laugh. "Ah, I've never had such a fun Halloween – up until the end, that is."

"Wha" – Joyce didn't even finish the word, not sure she wanted to know. She made the executive decision that she needed something more for this. "I'm going to make a drink," she informed Spike. After a moment, hospitality won out over caution. "Do you want one?"

"Terribly," he said, with that lazy predatory smirk again, "but I'm not likely to get one in the Slayer's home."

Despite what she'd seen with the man outside, and how convinced these two seemed to be of the story, Joyce didn't want to believe in vampires, or Slayers. Particularly not Buffy. But that face, and those words, sent a cold shiver down her spine, and her desire for a drink increased tenfold.

"Okay," she said, striving desperately to keep her voice even. "You can sit in the living room, then. We'll wait for Buffy to finish on the phone."


End file.
